An Inconvenient Divergence
by isolde13
Summary: Blaine had always hoped it wouldn't happen to him. And then it does. And now he's given over to a man he doesn't love, a man that he doesn't even know, and his life soon becomes never-ending misery. Until he meets Kurt. AU. Mpreg
1. Chapter 1

When Blaine is five years old, his parents sit him down for a talk. They seem very serious and they speak to him almost as if he were an adult. He likes that, likes how it makes him feel special, makes him feel grown up. They tell him that he'll soon go to school and that there are things that he will learn about their country. They want him to hear these things from them first.

His parents proceed to tell him about the droughts and the food shortages, diseases that have killed both crops and livestock alike. They open his eyes to what they'd previously hidden from him - that their country's resources are dwindling. That they are all slowly dying.

When Blaine is ten, he learns about the practice of betrothal. He's taught that halfway around the world, there lies a large, prosperous country that has more natural resources than they know what to do with. A country where food and water are bountiful and no one has to go hungry for days at a time so that other members of their family may eat.

He also learns that this far away country has its own problems. He's taught that a sweeping plague has rendered every man and woman barren and that no one has been able to conceive a child for decades.

Blaine is taught that both countries are equally hurting, that both of them are dying, and that betrothal is mutually beneficial.

The teachers are enthusiastic when they explain these things, making the practice sound like it truly is a good thing for everybody. And maybe it is. After all, with the "exchange", the other country will have young people that can conceive children and Blaine's own impoverished country will be reimbursed with the food and water it so desperately needs.

But even at the tender age of ten, Blaine understands that the practice is nothing more than glorified slavery. He understands that those that are betrothed, either by the government or their own family members, are nothing more than chattel.

When Blaine is twelve, his parents have another child. They name her Samantha. Despite the fact that things do get tougher, he loves her with a fierceness that surprises him. Even if soon enough he's going to bed hungry nearly every night.

When Blaine is fourteen, his best friend Wes is betrothed. He cries, frightened for Wes, frightened for himself. Betrothal has never hit so close to home before and it isn't too long before Wes is taken from him forever.

That night he begs his parents to keep him. That no matter what happens, to please keep him. His parents hold him and promise that everything will be all right. They promise him that they will never give him over, no matter how bad things get.

They will never give him over.

Blaine is just shy of seventeen when he is betrothed. His parents weep when they tell him. They tell him that they're sorry, so sorry. That the government came to them, that feeding him and his sister has been so hard and that the government's offer was too good.

They promise him that he is being betrothed to a good man. They tell him that he will have a good life, plenty to eat, no more worries about his next meal, no more dizzy spells because he hasn't eaten in days.

Blaine weeps too. He's too frightened to be angry with his parents for failing to live up to their promise. Besides, he's always known that this would happen. Somehow, he's always known.

He wipes at his tears and tries to steady his voice. "When do I have to go?"

"Your mate will be here tomorrow."

Blaine makes note of the word. Mate. Not husband, not lover, not boyfriend.

Mate. It sounds cold and brutal to his ears.

"So soon?" he asks.

"He's very excited to be with you, Blaine. He loved your pictures and can't wait to meet you."

"I don't even know his name," Blaine whispers, hating the terrible truth of this statement. He will soon belong to this man, will soon be required to lie with him, to give birth to as many of his children as he can. He will be expected to obey. And he doesn't even know this man's name.

It's Blaine's father who speaks. His mother is too busy crying to even try. "His name is Karofsky. Dave Karofsky."


	2. Chapter 2

The meal that night is extravagant and huge, the best they've ever had. Blaine has no appetite for it, though. His stomach is in knots, and there's a vague feeling of nausea that makes him want to curl into himself. This is what selling your son buys you, he thinks, more food than you can eat at one sitting. He feels like he should be bitter or angry, but he can't quite summon up those emotions. He can't seem to summon up anything other than a disquieting fear.

He's silent as he walks to his room to pack. One suitcase, his parents tell him. It takes a while to narrow down his life to one suitcase, but finally he does. Clothes mostly. His treasures, things like his trophies and awards, stay. A science project that he and Wes worked on for two weeks . . . stays. An old, battered guitar . . . stays. At some point during the task, he breaks down and begins to cry, not stopping until everything's packed and he can slide into bed. He sleeps so little; it feels as if he doesn't sleep at all.

Blaine's parents were wrong. It isn't Dave Karofsky that comes to their door the next morning. It's a tall, older man by the name of James. James calls himself a collector, a name that makes Blaine inwardly wince. What is it with these people and their horrible titles?

"Blaine Anderson, I presume?" he says as he sticks his hand out for Blaine to shake. Blaine takes it; the manners that his parents have instilled in him prevent him from doing anything else.

"Yeah, that's me," he says.

James' gaze travels the length of Blaine's body, lingering and appraising. Blaine steps away from him as soon as his hand is released, needing the distance.

"It's going to be good having you in our country, Blaine. You're doing a good thing. For us as well as your family."

Blaine doesn't know what to say to that, it's not like any of this was his choice. He stutters out a small thank you.

James turns from him to his parents and asks to speak with them in private. They go into the kitchen, speaking in hushed tones that Blaine can barely make out. He gives up trying and sits next to Samantha, holding her hand, more for his comfort than hers.

"Mom says you're going away," she says, her voice small and eyes large.

"Yeah, mom was right."

"I don't want you to go," she says, a pout on her lips.

"I don't want to go either, but I have to."

"Will you come back soon?"

Blaine's throat closes, making the next words hard to get out. "I hope so. I'll try."

It's a lie, of course. He'll never come back. No one ever does. But she doesn't have to know that yet.

When James and his parents finally come back, James looks to Blaine. "Are you ready?"

Blaine pales as his hands begin to shake. It's too soon, too much and there's nothing he can to stop it.

"Already?" he asks.

James nods. "It's a long ride to the airport and a long flight back home. To your new home."

Blaine hugs Samantha to him, maybe harder than he should. She cries against him and he tries not to do the same. After a few minutes, he pulls away and stands, gathering his lone suitcase.

When his parents try to embrace him, he pulls away from them. The anger that he couldn't feel last night is here now. He knows that he sounds bitter. Betrayed. Hurt.

"Don't touch me."

"Blaine . . ."

"Why couldn't you just have kept me? I mean, did you ever love me at all?"

"Blaine, we're doing this for you," his father says. "The government has promised us that you're going to have a good life. That you won't ever want for anything again."

"So that's what you're going to tell yourselves to sleep at night," Blaine says, spitting the words out.

His mother reaches for him. "Blaine, please. We love you."

He almost relents, feeling himself drawn to the comfort that their embrace would bring. But he's still too angry and the wounds are too fresh. After all, he's barely had a day to try and comprehend that his life will no longer be the same. He shakes his head and back away.

"Just promise me you won't do the same thing to Samantha. Just promise me."

"Blaine . . ."

Blaine moves to stand next to James. He can't even look at them anymore. He needs to be away from here. "I'm ready, sir. I'm ready now."

His parents look devastated as he and James walk out the door, but there's nothing he can do to help them. He's not theirs anymore and they're no longer his.

Outside, there is a car waiting for them. The driver steps out and opens the doors for them. Both Blaine and James slip into the back seat.

They've only just pulled away from the house when James says, "Give me your left hand."

"Why?" Blaine asks.

James makes an impatient gesture. "Don't question me, just give me your hand."

Blaine does, offering it hesitatingly. He watches as James produces a silver bracelet and places it around his wrist, locking it on tight. Blaine draws his hand back, caressing the metal.

"What's it for?"

"It does many things. For one, it denotes your status."

"My status?"

James nods. "As a breeder."

Blaine grimaces at the ugliness of the word.

"This is the easiest way to know who's a citizen and who isn't. Once you give birth to your first child, your bracelet will be exchanged for a gold one and you will be afforded limited rights."

"Don't I have any rights now?"

"You're the property of the state and of your mate, Dave Karofsky. Do you think you have any rights?"

Blaine exhales shakily, the enormity of what is happening almost overwhelming. "This isn't fair."

For a brief moment, James looks almost sympathetic. "No one ever claimed that it was."

Blaine looks away, feeling his eyes prickling with the start of tears. He blinks furiously to keep them at bay.

"The device is also a tracker. If at any time you try and run away, we can and will find you."

"Why would I want to run away from such a great arrangement?" Blaine says bitterly.

Surprisingly, James laughs at the sarcasm. "Lastly, it can deliver a very strong electronic charge at the border of our country. It won't kill you, but it is guaranteed to render you unconscious."

"At the border?"

"In case you were to make it that far. In your escape attempt," James clarifies.

"You really don't want people leaving, do you?"

"We paid a lot for you, Blaine. We intend to keep you."

Blaine looks down at the device, tests it by trying to pull it off. It doesn't budge.

"It's on manual now. I can activate the electrical charge by a remote device." James pauses, waits until Blaine looks back up. "If need be."

"People have tried to escape before," Blaine says. It's not a question, not really. He himself is about two seconds from trying to bolt from the moving vehicle.

"It's been known to happen."

Blaine looks back down at his wrist, his fingertips touching the cool metal. It's warming quickly, almost as if it's becoming a part of him.

He whispers, "I don't want this."

He doesn't expect James to answer, but is strangely grateful when he feel the pat on his knee and hears James say, "I know, Blaine. I know."

Maybe it's the most comfort that James is capable of giving. It's far less than Blaine needs. But he recognizes that it's all he's going to get so he scoots in just a little closer to James, wrapping his own arms around his body as he watches the countryside fly by.


	3. Chapter 3

Blaine has never seen an actual airplane, much less been inside one. He can't seem to make himself stop staring out the window, even now when they've been in the air for at least a half hour.

"Blaine."

James doesn't sound angry, not exactly, but his voice is firm. Blaine reluctantly tears his gaze away from the world below him.

"Yes, sir?"

"I know that a plane isn't something that you're used to, but I need you to focus for a few minutes, all right?"

Blaine can feel himself blushing. "Ok. I'm sorry."

James nods, looking pleased. "Right. So as I mentioned before, this is a private plane. Just us, the attendant and the pilots, so please feel free to make yourself comfortable. You can walk around if you need to stretch your legs, the bathroom is right through that door and you can sleep in that area if you're tired."

Blaine looks around, eyes landing on everything that James has just pointed out. This airplane is nicer than his house and nearly as big, and he finds himself once again lost in the wonderment of it all.

"You can watch films here," James is saying, indicating the screen in front of Blaine. "There are quite a few to choose from. Or there's plenty of material to read if that's your choice."

Blaine nods, trying desperately to take it all in.

"This plane is going to be your home for the next twenty-four hours, so I'll say it again – I want you to make yourself comfortable, Blaine."

"I will, thank you, sir."

"And this," James says, reaching inside his large briefcase and pulling out a small book. "This is a guide to our country. It will give an overview of things: our government, our customs . . . things that you'll want to know."

Blaine takes it in his hands, flipping it open absently.

"You have plenty of time to read it," James says kindly, as if he understands how overwhelmed Blaine is. "You don't have to do it now."

Blaine tucks it next to him on the seat. "I'll look at it later," he says, even though it's the last thing he wants to do. He doesn't want to know anything about this new country. He wants to have as little to do with this as possible until he's absolutely forced to.

"Will we get fed?" he asks, motivated by the sudden aching emptiness in his stomach. He hadn't had much of an appetite this morning and he finds that not eating is catching up to him now.

James chuckles. "Yes. They'll be bringing us our first meal here very shortly, I'm sure."

Blaine blushes hotly, feeling stupid for even asking. That is until James reaches across the small expanse separating them and pats him on the knee. "You won't have to worry about food ever again, Blaine."

Blaine bites back on his answer, something about preferring to starve and be his own person than be well fed and a slave. But he and James are about to spend a lot of time together and he doesn't want to antagonize him.

"Would you like to learn a little bit about your mate?" James asks, drawing his hand away.

"Yes. I'd like to know more than his name before I meet him."

James chuckles again and before pulling a picture from his briefcase and handing it to Blaine. Blaine takes it, staring down at the face that stares back at him. He makes a quick assessment, noting that while Dave is not his usual type or preference, he is at least good-looking. He looks tall and strong, his brown hair short and his eyes small and pinched. He's unsmiling in the picture, making him appear either angry or upset. Or maybe, Blaine thinks with a sigh, he's just projecting.

"His name is David Karofsky," James says. "He's only twenty-four and already a highly decorated soldier in the King's army. He's also cousin to the King. Both of these things earn him living space in the palace."

"Is that where I'll be? In the palace?"

"Yes."

Blaine sets the picture in his lap as his fingers begin to worry at the hem of his shirt. "I won't . . . I won't know how to act. I won't know what to say."

"You'll be fine, Blaine. You're smart and you adapt quickly. You'll be fine."

"Maybe . . . I don't know."

"Your mate is stable, well-off monetarily and has the highest of connections. You'll be fine."

Blaine stares down at the picture. At the stranger's face, the man he is supposed to have children with. After a moment he looks back up and whispers, "Is he nice?"

James breaks eye contact, just for a brief moment before his gaze once again finds Blaine's. "I . . . well I guess I don't know."

Blaine eats and makes it halfway through one film before exhaustion overtakes him. He sleeps for a long time, though he doesn't sleep well; unfamiliar surroundings and anxiety don't allow for it.

He spends the rest of the time reading, watching films or staring out the window. James is mostly quiet, kept busy with his phone and computer, but he always answers when Blaine has a question.

When the pilot tells them over the intercom to prepare for landing, Blaine's heart begins to race. They can't be here already; it's too soon, he needs more time.

James tells him to relax and soon enough they are landing, the airplane touching down smoothly on the runway. Blaine stares out the window the entire time, unseeing. He's too lost in his head, in the panic that he suddenly can't control.

The plane stops moving and their flight attendant comes out to tell them that they can now leave the aircraft.

Blaine undoes his seatbelt and stands but finds that he can't make himself move any further. He's trying, he really is, but he can't seem to place one foot in front of the other.

James comes to stand in front of him and says, "You'll be fine."

"You don't know that. You don't even know me," Blaine says, voice heated and desperate.

James grips Blaine's shoulders firmly. "You're right, I don't really know you, but I know enough. I have faith in you, Blaine. I have faith in your strength. I know that you will be fine."

Blaine's instinct is to twist away and deny James' words, but he pushes down on that and, taking a deep breath, tries to steady himself. He has to. He has no choice. He can't stay here forever and he's fairly sure that James isn't going to tell the pilot to turn the aircraft around.

"What if he's not nice?" he whispers.

"Dave Karofsky is a good man."

It's not an answer to his question but Blaine nods anyway and takes in another deep, shaky breath. "Will I ever see you again?" he asks, surprising himself with how badly he wants the answer to be yes. James is the only one he knows in this country and he hates the thought of losing that bit of comfort.

James seems to be anticipating the question. He drops his hands from Blaine's shoulders and offers a smile. "It's very possible, Blaine. It's very possible."

A few minutes later, they are on the tarmac, walking toward a car waiting a safe distance away. Blaine is holding his suitcase and James is walking behind him, a hand on his shoulder as if to guide him.

There is a man standing next to the car, and the closer they get to it, the more Blaine can see that it is his mate. Dave.

Too soon they're standing in front of Dave, and James and Dave are talking. Blaine doesn't pay attention to what's being said. He can't make himself focus on the exchange of words, too busy staring at the man before him. He can't believe that this is real, that this is happening. Three days ago his life had been normal, _he'd_ been normal. Three days ago he'd been a normal teenage boy who'd been in one failed relationship and who'd managed to kiss two boys and one girl in his entire life.

Now he belongs to this man, this stranger. He is property now, here in this country only to breed.

"Dave, this is Blaine," James is saying, scooting Blaine forward.

Dave doesn't even bother shaking Blaine's hand. He takes his arm and pulls him close, smiling appreciatively. "You're even prettier than you are in your pictures."

"Um . . . thank you?" he says, unsure of the proper response.

"No, let's thank James for helping pick you. Looks like he found the right guy."

"You're welcome, Dave. I hope the union is fruitful," James says.

"Well, come on," Dave says, pulling Blaine forward toward the car. "We have quite a ways to drive. And I think we're already missing our own party."

"Party?" Blaine asks.

"Well yeah, I have a lot to celebrate, don't I?" Dave says, grinning. "I mean, look at you. I gotta show you off a little."

And then he's pulling Blaine into the car, so quickly that Blaine barely has time to look back and mouth "goodbye" to James.

Dave sits behind the wheel of the car, starting it before turning to Blaine in the passenger seat. "Ready?"

He doesn't even bother waiting for a response, moving the car forward as one hand lands on Blaine's thigh, the grip hard and possessive.


	4. Chapter 4

Kurt Hummel takes a sip of his wine and looks about the Great Hall. His intense dislike for these things is easily read so he finds it better to stay near a corner, where no one is really paying attention to him and he can hide.

He resents the fact that he has to be here, celebrating the arrival of Dave's breeder. But when the king himself insists that anyone of any importance attend, there's nothing that Kurt can do but to obey.

And look for the first possible moment to leave.

After a few minutes of standing around, Kurt hears the muted conversation surrounding him turn into excited whispers as the doors to the hall are opened.

He turns, craning his neck like all the others, curious despite himself as to who James has managed to find for Dave.

He can't quite catch a glimpse however, not with everyone surging forward, all of them eager to meet Dave's breeder, the one who will give Dave a child. Everyone expects a male; Dave's preferences have been known for some time. The curiosity comes from seeing what this boy is going to look like. It's become a game, to see who can get the youngest and prettiest mate.

It takes a while for Kurt to be able to spot the new couple, but when he does, his pulse beats just a little faster.

It's not because of Dave. He's known the man for years and can barely stand to look at him. It's the smaller man standing at his side that's evoking this reaction. He makes a mental note to congratulate James on the find. The boy is pretty, really pretty, nearing on beautiful with that dark curly hair and those full lips.

He looks tired and bewildered and more than a little frightened but that doesn't distract from his beauty. In fact, if Kurt is being honest with himself, there's something about that vulnerability that enhances it.

He steps forward decisively, cutting in front of a few people that have been waiting patiently to speak with Dave.

"David," he says, barely looking at Dave at all. His gaze, appraising and searching, is mostly on Dave's acquisition.

"Kurt," Dave says. He looks unbearably smug, enough that Kurt is tempted to just turn around and walk away.

But the pretty, vulnerable boy in front of him holds him there.

"Kurt, this is Blaine. Isn't he great?" he says, leaning in. "Pretty, right?"

"He's very nice, yes." He turns to Blaine and gives a small smile. "Hello, Blaine."

Blaine stares at him, eyes widening before he catches himself and stutters out the word "hi".

Blaine's voice is nice too; husky, yet not as deep as Kurt had been expecting considering his build. He wants to hear it again and he finds himself disappointed when Dave begins to move away, already greeting someone else.

He watches as Dave pulls Blaine away, watches as Blaine turns his head and looks back, their gazes meeting for a fleeting second before breaking apart.

Kurt takes a sip of his wine and thinks that perhaps this party wasn't a colossal waste of time after all.

Blaine gazes through the expanse of the Great Hall and, despite everything that has happened to him, can't help but feel an overwhelming sense of awe and wonderment. The palace and its surrounding properties are larger than his entire town, larger than anything he's ever seen in any textbook. It certainly dwarfs the parliament building of his own impoverished country. And this hall is worthy of wonderment all on its own. It's huge and there are hundreds of people within it and he's never seen so much food and drink in his life.

He follows dutifully behind Dave as they make their way through the throng of people, stopping whenever Dave stops to speak to someone. He tries not to let it bother him, how everyone looks at him, how everyone talks about him, as if he's nothing more than a possession. Which, he supposes he is, but he still resents that none of these people can even bother to try and see him as more.

But no, that's not quite right, he thinks as he's dragged over to yet another person who's name he will never remember.

There have been some people who did not treat him that way. Only a handful, but they had been kind enough to look him in the eye and speak _to_ him instead of about him. Women mostly, but there had been one man. He had been young, with clear blue eyes and delicate features.

His name had been Kurt, Blaine thinks. Yes, Kurt, that was it.

He startles out of his thoughts as Dave thrusts a glass into his hand and tells him to drink.

He does, almost without thought, glad for the warmth that suffuses his body even if it does burn his throat.

After what feels like a lifetime, Dave finally turns to him and tells him that they're leaving. Blaine nods and sets his glass down. It's his second, and he's feeling a little fuzzy from its effects. He follows Dave, glad to be leaving the hall but apprehensive about what's to come.

He tries to ignore the cheers and clapping that erupt in the hall after everyone realizes that they're leaving.

Dave pumps his fist in the air as if he's celebrating some great victory. Blaine just tries not to feel ill.

He lets Dave guide him through the endless maze that is the palace, up elevators and through corridor after corridor; until he's certain that he'll never be able to find his way back down.

"I'll give you a real tour tomorrow, ok?" Dave says, as if reading his mind.

Blaine nods absently, far too lost in his own fears to fully focus on anything happening around him. He comes to an abrupt stop when Dave does, and only then does he notice where they are. He watches as Dave fumbles with the keys to the door in front of them, watches as he finally gets the door to open.

And then they're walking inside and Dave is turning on the lights and guiding him with a hand to the small of his back.

It's nice enough, Blaine supposes. The suite has a living area, a bedroom and its own bathroom.

Dave shows him around, ending the tour in the bedroom. "So, what do you think?" he asks.

"It's nice," Blaine says. He stares at the only bed. Is it too much to hope that he'll be allowed to sleep on the couch? "It's all very nice."

"Good. Yeah. I'm glad. I think you'll do all right here, Blaine."

He turns his head. Dave had at least four of those drinks and it's fairly obvious that he's either drunk or very close to it. "You think so?"

"Everyone loved you. Did you see that? Everyone was staring at you."

"I . . . yeah I noticed."

"They want you. All of them. And they can't have you." Dave reaches out, hand wrapping around Blaine's wrist and tugging him closer. "You're all mine."

Blaine tries to pull back, but Dave's grip is strong and insistent. "I . . ."

Dave tugs again, harder this time and Blaine stumbles towards him, landing against his chest. Dave brings an arm around Blaine's waist, holding him close and still.

"You can shut up and kiss me now," Dave says.

Blaine doesn't know whether to laugh or cry, but before he can do either, Dave's lips are upon his. The kiss is rough and insistent and after a few shocked seconds, Blaine gives in and opens his mouth and accepts it.

It's like no kiss he's ever experienced; neither sweet nor wanted and heated in all the wrong kind of ways.

He decides that he doesn't like kissing Dave, at least not like this. It's too hard and too fast; too sloppy. He tries to pull away, but Dave keeps him still, anchoring him with his hands.

After a moment, Dave's hands begin to roam, one underneath his shirt and pawing at his back, the other edging down until it cups between his legs.

Blaine manages to jerk back, his hand coming up to his mouth as if to wipe the kiss away. "Can we just . . . just slow down a minute?" he asks, trying to catch his breath.

"Why? I mean . . . we're here. We're alone. Why wait?"

"It's just . . ."

"I'll use protection," Dave says as he pulls Blaine toward him once more. "Until the doctor can clear you tomorrow of any, you know . . . diseases. I'll use a condom."

"That's not it."

"Then what?"

Blaine hesitates. It's not that he's embarrassed about what he's about to confess, not exactly. It's more the fact that this is a private thing and that Dave is still essentially a stranger. He feels as if he's being forced to say it, as if it's being ripped from him. "I've never . . . I've never done this before."

It takes Dave a few seconds to connect the words to their true meaning. When he does, he takes a step back, looking both surprised and delighted. "You're a virgin?"

Blaine looks down, blushing, and stays silent.

Apparently, silence is answer enough. "Oh, this is too perfect. I mean, they had said you were, but sometimes people lie, you know? To get a better price. But you really are a virgin?"

Blaine can feel himself blushing even hotter now and he's starting to wish the ground would just open up and swallow him up. This isn't the reaction he was hoping for from Dave, this isn't the reaction that his confession deserved.

"Look, don't worry," Dave says, growing serious. "I'll take it easy on you. I won't hurt you."

He reels Blaine back in for another kiss, and yes, it's softer than it was before, but it's still not right. It's still not welcome.

"A virgin. You're gonna feel so fucking good," Dave whispers, moving so his mouth is against Blaine's throat. "Fuck, you're gonna . . ."

And then Dave's hands move back to Blaine's waist, somehow slipping past the waistband of his jeans and gripping him hard.

Blaine reacts on instinct, gasping and stepping away, his hands pushing at Dave's chest. This isn't how this is supposed to feel. Even with his limited experience, he knows at least this much. It's too much, too fast, and he feels like he can't catch his breath.

The slap, when it comes, is completely unexpected. Blaine had just been about to ask Dave again to please move more slowly. He was about to suggest that they talk, get to know each other.

But then Dave slaps him, the back of his hand connecting with Blaine's cheek, and it hurts. It sends him stumbling backward, hand against his mouth where it stings.

"I said I wasn't going to hurt you," Dave says, angry now, his face contorted so that it's ugly and frightening.

Blaine almost laughs at the irony of Dave's words. Almost. He straightens and backs away, stopping only when the back of his knees hit the bed.

"You see what you made me do? Do you see that?" Dave asks, advancing upon him.

Blaine falls onto the bed and scrabbles backward to the middle of it. He looks around frantically, trying to decide which way to go, when Dave pounces on him, pushing him down to the mattress.

"Stop it. Just stop," Dave growls.

Blaine does, going very still. It's not as if he has much of a choice. Dave is straddling him, trapping his legs and pinning his arms down at his sides. He can barely move anyway.

"You can't fight me, you know that right?" Dave says, his voice low and harsh in Blaine's. "I own you now, Blaine. This is what you're here for. So just give in. It's gonna be a lot easier if you give in."

Blaine turns his head and, focusing on the wall, lets his thoughts drift. He has no rights. Not until he receives the gold bracelet and even then they're so limited. But now, with the silver bracelet around his wrist, he is nothing. He could fight Dave, but that's a punishable offense, not just for himself, but for his family back home. If he doesn't behave, he'll be seen as damaged, defective. The price, he decides, is too high. He can't risk it.

He won't risk it.

He nods, giving his permission even though Dave truly needs none.

He can feel Dave moving above him, shifting so that he's no longer holding him down. And then Dave begins touching him, ridding him of his clothes so that he can touch him even more intimately. The only positive is that Dave doesn't seem to require Blaine's participation.

So he lies there and waits for it to be over, enduring the kisses and the probing fingers. And maybe Dave tries to be gentle . . . maybe . . . Blaine truly can't tell. But it doesn't matter, because in the end, as Dave finally enters him and begins to move . . . in the end, it hurts.

And Blaine will always remember that it did.


	5. Chapter 5

Blaine wakes to snatches of light falling across his face and the weight of an arm across his torso. He blinks once, twice, before craning his head to look behind him.

He sees Dave, asleep, his mouth open and emitting small snores. He turns away again and runs a hand over his face. So, not a nightmare, then. This entire thing, from being betrothed to last night's "honeymoon" . . . all real.

He slides out from under Dave's arm and makes his way to the bathroom. He walks slowly, surprised to find that he's sore, not only where he expected to be, but everywhere. Every muscle aches as if he's just run a marathon and he has to wonder if it will always be like this or if his body will get used to it.

He relieves himself before stepping into the shower, turning the water on as hot as he can stand it. His aching body prevents him from scrubbing as aggressively as he wishes he could, but it doesn't stop him from being thorough. He washes every inch of himself, over and over, until he begins to feel that Dave is no longer on his skin. He takes extra care when he cleans inside himself. He is so sore that it hurts to reach up there, but the thought of Dave's come staying in his body is worse than the pain.

By the end of the too-long shower, he is crying. He doesn't even know when he started.

He shuts the water off the water and dries himself dry, fighting the tears until he manages to make them slow, then stop altogether. He dresses in his most comfortable clothes, ratty and torn, but they're soft and loose and they feel good against his skin.

He's not really sure what to do now. He's hungry but the thought of food makes him nauseous, and he doesn't know where to find it at any rate. He's weary but not truly tired and the last thing he wants to do is go back to the bedroom.

He finally settles on the sofa in the living area, curling himself up as small as he can. He stares down at the silver cuff on his wrist and thinks about how such a small, incongruous object can affect so damn much.

He is trapped in a strange place with a strange man because of this bracelet. He has lost his virginity to someone he barely knows, to someone who hurt him, because of this bracelet. He will bear children that he doesn't want because of this bracelet.

He runs a hand along his cheek, remembering the sting from last night. At least having children will guarantee him one thing; he'll be able to formally complain about any ill treatment. It makes sense, he supposes, as a way to protect those who bear and raise the children. The coveted gold bracelet will give him that much. All he has to do is be fertile.

A humorless chuckle escapes him but it quickly turns into a choked off sob. There is nothing funny about this, nothing at all. He covers his face with his hands, fighting the urge to give in to the building tears.

Eventually he drifts off into an uneasy doze, slipping in and out of it over and over. He doesn't fully wake again until he feels a presence next to him. He sits up quickly, wincing as his aching body protests the movement.

"Hey, calm down, it's just me," Dave says.

"Oh sorry," Blaine says. He wipes at his eyes and tries to shake off the remnants of sleep. "I just meant to close my eyes for a minute."

"What are you doing out here, anyway?"

Blaine decides not to answer truthfully. "I woke up and I felt restless. I guess I was still tired though."

Dave's hand settles on the back of Blaine's neck, rubbing lightly at his skin. It could be considered a tender gesture, but Blaine doesn't care. He doesn't want it.

"Are you hungry?" Dave asks.

Blaine shrugs. "A little."

"Good, cause I'm starving. We missed breakfast, but if we hurry, we can make lunch."

Blaine nods and mutters, "Sure." It takes every ounce of self-control that he has not to pull away from Dave's touch.

After a few moments, Dave drops his hand, placing it on Blaine's knee instead. He leans in, looking serious. "Listen, Blaine. About last night . . ."

Blaine tenses. He doesn't want to talk about this . . . he really doesn't want to talk about this.

"I have a bit of temper and sometimes things get away from me," Dave continues. "I didn't want to hit you last night. That wasn't how I wanted our first night together to go."

Blaine can feel some of the tension leaving his body at what sounds like an apology.

"Oh well, it's . . ."

"But you know, if you had just listened to me, I wouldn't have had to hit you. You know that, right?"

"I . . ."

"I mean, I'm not a monster. I only get like that when I get frustrated. Like the way you were frustrating me last night."

Blaine pulls away, confused. "Are you saying that was my fault?"

"I'm saying that you were pushing me away, and you had no right to do that. You forced me to get that way."

There's a moment, a long moment of quiet, where Blaine tries to wrap his head around what is happening. "I . . . I'm sorry?" he says hesitantly, making it a question because he truly doesn't know what's expected of him here.

"It's ok, Blaine. Just . . . do better next time, ok?"

Blaine nods, not trusting himself to speak, certain he'll say something he'll regret.

Dave seems satisfied anyway. "After we eat, I'll take you by the doctor. We have an appointment for a full physical. As soon as the results come back that you're clean, we can stop using that damn condom." His hand travels to Blaine's stomach, rubbing it lightly. "Then we can work on you giving me a child."

It's hard getting words past his too-dry throat but Blaine somehow manages. "Great. A child."

"That's what you're here for."

Blaine clears his throat. "Could I possibly call my family today?" he asks, changing the subject to something that he can stomach. "I want to at least let them know that I made it here safely."

"They've been told," Dave says. "They know." He stands up and holds his hand out to Blaine. Blaine takes it, allowing himself to be pulled up from the couch.

He'd been so angry with his parents when he left; feeling betrayed and unwanted had made him cold. He had wanted to hurt them as they'd hurt him. Now he would give anything just to hear their voices. "Please? I'd really like to talk to them."

It's hard to gauge Dave's reaction. Blaine can't quite tell if he's irritated or amused. Or maybe a little bit of both. "Look, we'll see, ok? We have to go."

"Ok," Blaine says, nodding. He'll let it go for now. He has a feeling that he's going to have to learn how to pick his battles here.

They're just about to walk out the door when Dave suddenly stops and wraps his arms around Blaine, bringing him close. Before Blaine can react, Dave is kissing him, possessive and hard, stealing his very breath from him.

Blaine leans back on instinct, but he is still unable to escape it. He gives in, letting Dave take what he needs.

Dave breaks the kiss after endless moments, running his hands over Blaine's body. "I'm glad you're here. Really glad, Blaine."

Blaine tries to echo the sentiment, but he finds that he can't. That lie is just too great. So he manages a weak smile, grabbing hold of Dave's hand and pulling away. "Come on. We should get going."


End file.
